Perfect Place
by angela evans
Summary: For once in his career at the agency, he should have played by the rules...(7/?) Spoilers: Rendezvous
1. My Name Is Sydney Bristow

**Perfect Place**

**Author:** Angela Evans

**Email:** Angel33296@aol.com

**Feedback:** Yes, please, oh yes, harder, more – I am a feedback slut.

**Distribution:** Ask me first, please!

**Disclaimer:** I own them. Not.

**Summary:** Now that'd give it away….oh, alright. Sydney gets into trouble.

**Spoilers:** Umm, technically none, but it does deal with a certain 'theme'

**Rating:** R

**Classification:** Alternate Universe

**A/N:** Thanks to Jada Lynne for telling me it didn't suck. Also, don't be surprised if updates are few and far between.

_There is no perfect place,_

_Forget what you been told,_

_Take a good hard look at the hand you hold,_

_Then put on your poker face,_

No, there ain't no perfect place… 

_          ~ Pancho's Lament, "Perfect Place"_

It was only the start of the third watch, only the start of the night, but Det. Kenneth Marino knew it was going to be a long one. He could tell by the way the coffee felt like slime going down his throat, by the tall stack of papers sitting on his desk, awaiting processing. And by the Jane Doe in lock up.

He leaned against the wall and watched the girl with the cherry-red hair. She didn't move, she just sat and stared at the floor, thick lashes hiding her eyes. She was probably a junkie whacked out on smack, he thought, some poor chica who'd gotten strung out and got caught breaking into a pharmacy, looking for another hit when she started to sober up. Kids these days, he thought, breaking into drug stores and taking meds instead of the money. What was wrong with the world?

The girl's heavy-lidded eyes rose up to meet his gaze. Behind the sheer anger, he could see pain in her dark eyes. Somebody had hurt this girl bad.

The thunk of papers landing on his desk broke the spell the heavy-eyed girl had on him. He looked up at his partner, Det. Joanne Thatcher. She had followed his gaze and was watching the cherry-redhead.

"Poor girl," she said, shaking her head. "She was probably looking for a fix when she killed the guy."

Marino looked up, surprised. "She killed a guy?"

"Yeah. 9 mm, close range. Professional-style. Hooking must be getting lethal," Thatcher commented.

No wonder the girl wasn't doing much. She was in shock. "She's a hooker?" Marino asked. "I thought she was a junkie."

"Probably both," Thatcher said, flipping open the file folder. "Kate Jones," she read, "arrested in 1998 for possession, '99 for prostitution, and '01 for a smash-and-grab."

"Pity, isn't it?" Marino said. "Pretty girl like that." He shook his head.

"Yeah. But just the same, Cap'n wants you to process her," Thatcher said, wandering off to get coffee. Marino couldn't understand how she could like the stuff.

Sighing, he got up and made his way over to the lock-up pen and opened the door. The cherry haired girl didn't look up. "Kate Jones?" he tried. 

She didn't respond. He moved closer, careful not to spook her, also careful to stay at a safe distance in case she jumped him. It had happened before – about a year ago, a buddy had his eye scratched out when a Jane with long nails had attacked him. That was the last thing Marino wanted.

"Ms. Jones?" he tried again. He took a step closer. Her mouth was moving, the purple-red lips forming words he couldn't make out and she was rocking back and forth, shivering. He hoped to go she wasn't crashing.

"Santa Maria," he whispered as he stepped closer until he could make out the words she was saying, over and over and over again.

"My name is Sydney Bristow," she was muttering, "my name is Sydney _Bristow_."

//end part one


	2. Of Murder, Strife, and Misery

**Perfect Place – Part 2**

**A/N:** For all pertinent info, see part one. Thanks to J.L. again. **Big** thanks to Karen, who helped a lot. And thank you to those of you who have reviewed this…the more I get, the faster I write *wink, wink*

I know I was born to lead a double life,                                                                                                                                                Of murder, strife, and misery…    

                   "Perfect World", Liz Phair

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Look, you've got to cooperate. Tell me something. Anything." Elaine Jansuek was tired. It had been a long day and she didn't have the patience for this. But Run, Lola, Run sat across from her with her lips tightly pressed shut and her arms crossed. "A name," she tried.

Marino watched from behind the two-way. Two hours ago the girl was shaking and chanting her name like a mantra. Now, nothing. What was with this chick? He gave Elaine another six seconds before she walked out the door. "She's about to walk," he said to Thatcher, who was standing next to him.

"I wouldn't be so sure….Rainbow Brite might still open up."

"Ten says she doesn't," Marino baited her.

"You're on," Thatcher said.

On the mirror side, Elaine shifted heavily in her seat. Her back was killing her and the seats in this joint weren't exactly ergonomic. Maybe she should suggest they requisition some new chairs….might cut down on her chiropractor visits. But that was about as likely to happen as pigs flying. The last time the pace had gotten anything new was 1975 and it was only a new coat of institutional beige. "Look, Ms. Jones, if you don't give me something I can work with, I'm outta here and you're on your own." She let her words hang in the air. Who knows, maybe that way they would sink into Strawberry Shortcake's head.

The girl said nothing.

Elaine stood and gathered her papers. "Good luck," Elaine said, half meaning it. She'd seen so many cases in her ten years as a public defender that she didn't get emotionally invested anymore. But there was something about this girl.

Hoisting her briefcase onto her shoulder, Elaine made her way to the door and rapped on it for opening. The guard outside looked in, then unlocked the heavy metal door and held it open for Elaine.

Marino was grinning. Elaine was almost out the door. "Your money is mine," he taunted

"Bristow."

Elaine turned around. 

"My name is Bristow," the girl said, her voice slightly raspy.

Marino shook his head. When Thatcher held out her hand, he begrudgingly slapped a ten into it.

"She speaks," Elaine said, returning to the table. "Now, Ms. Bristow, can you explain to me why your fingerprints match Kate Jones'?"

"Kate Jones isn't real. They made her."

"Who is they?" Elaine asked, re-positioning herself in the straight-backed metal chair.

"The Alliance."

"The Alliance? What is this? The X-Files?"

"No." The response was quiet, but it carried a tone that said _don't mess with me_.

"You want me to believe that some shadow group created Kate Jones and gave you her identity?" Elaine sighed. They'd given her a paranoid nut. Patterson must've thought it'd be funny. She hoped he was laughing now, 'cause he wasn't going to be laughing later. "As your counsel, it's my job to inform you that if you keep talking about conspiracy theories, you will be found unfit to stand trial."

"Unfit?" she laughed, a short, maniacal laugh. "It doesn't matter.  They're not going to let me get to trial anyway." That was why she had been running. It was only a matter of time before they sent somebody to clean things up. No way was the Alliance going to let her get away with killing one of their own.

Elaine could not believe the clarity with which the girl was speaking. Five minutes ago, she could have been declared almost comatose. Now she was talking and she seemed so certain. "Hold on. Why won't they let you stand trial? Are you saying this…whatever you called it is going to send somebody to kill you?"

Her breathing was more regular, the way she formed her words was more careful. Speaking slowly and clearly, with her hands folded in her lap, Sydney looked at Elaine, eyes wide,  and said, "Of course."

"Then tell me why."

"If I walked up to the president of the United States and shot him, would the Secret Service think twice about aiming and firing at me?" Sydney smiled, almost triumphantly.  "I just walked up to a man ten times more powerful." 

"Why?"

"I killed him because he was ruining my life. It was suicide. But I won't go to trial. Kate Jones doesn't exist. Somebody who doesn't exist can't kill someone." Sydney reached up and twirled some of berry colored hair, closing her eyes for the duration of her actions. Then she opened them, clasped her hands in her lap, and started to whisper, "Kate doesn't exist."

"But Sydney Bristow does exist? What will happen to her?" Elaine pressed. This woman obviously had multiple personalities. She watched as Sydney frowned, for half a moment, and then smiled again.

"I'm going to die."

"My name," she took a deep breath, "is Sydney Bristow. I . . . have been working in intelligence for almost eight years, now." The woman, Kate, or Sydney, or whoever she was going to be in ten minutes, parted her lips and sighed. "I was told that I was working for SD-6, a covert part of the U.S. government, the CIA. But when I told my fiancé about it . . ."

She stopped and tears came into her eyes. Elaine reached forward and touched her softly on the wrist, where her hands were clasped in front of her on the desk. "You okay?" asked Elaine in a soft voice.

Sydney pushed the tears away. She wasn't going to let this woman pity her. She didn't want it, she didn't need it. God, she already got enough from Vaughn.

"My fiancé was killed." She brushed her hair back behind her ear, something that Elaine had noticed before. It was a nervous habit, she noted, something that Kate did often. "The head of SD-6 ordered it. That's the reason I learned the truth. SD-6 is not part of the government. It's a part of the Alliance of Twelve. I was working against my country."

Play along with her, Elaine thought. Delusional as this girl was, here was something solid. _Motive_. "Did that bother you, Sydney?" she asked Kate.

Kate/Sydney glared at Elaine. "Of course it bothered me. I pledged my life and loyalty to the United States government and I find out that every time my life was in danger it was for an enemy of the government. My works meant nothing to me then. I was ashamed of them. That's when I went to the real CIA -- it was the only place I knew to find my pride again."

She paused, as if waiting for something. Elaine said nothing. Kate seemed to take this badly, in any case she deepened her the color of her eyes as she coolly surveyed the public defender.

"An agent named Michael Vaughn was my handler," she said, licking her lips and pushing her hair back behind her ears again. She seemed to be on the verge of saying something, then caught herself. "He . . . he was the one who told me about…." 

The door opened, startling both women. A weary looking young officer was standing there. He nodded in the direction of Kate/Sydney. "There's a visitor here for her."

//end part two


	3. Disappear

Perfect Place – Part 3 

**A/N: ** Spoiler change!!!! This follows canon up to and including "Rendezvous", after that it's purely AU.
    
    _I'm not here,_

_This isn't happening_… 

_          "__How To Disappear Completely", Radiohead_

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jimmy MacKenzie was near the end of his shift when it happened. He had been sitting in the guard booth near the visitor entrance, his feet up on the counter, reading the sports pages when the heavyset man in a suit appeared and asked to see Kate Jones. 

"A visitor," Elaine said, shaking her blonde head, "Who is it?"

"I don't know," Jimmy confessed, his brown eyes barely meeting Elaine's blue ones, "but he said it's important. He's in the public visiting room – I need to escort her there."

Elaine was annoyed. She was just getting somewhere with Rainbow Brite – even if it was just Lala Land – and now this. She sighed. "Fine take her. But bring her right back, we're not done yet."

Jimmy nodded and circled around to Kate's side of the table. She stood, with an almost stoic expression on her face, and allowed him to cuff her hands behind her back. He hooked an arm through hers and led her towards the door. As they passed Elaine, Kate stopped, pulling on his arm. "I told you," she said to the public defender, "they're here for me." Then she allowed Jimmy to lead her away.

The police station's holding and interrogation area was much like an actual jail. A series of gates and fire doors that could be easily locked down to stop and trap an escapee before they made it to the bullpen, where lots of cops would be more then happy to tackle or shoot somebody trying to make a break for it. 

Finally, they arrived at the last gate. As they waited for the gates to be opened, she raised her eyes to his. Jimmy couldn't believe the pain he saw there. "Hey," he said, tentatively, "it's….." He didn't know how to finish. It wasn't 'all going to be okay' or 'not that bad'; he couldn't lie to her. But he wanted to.

As the gate slid open, three men dressed in black with ski masks charged the opening. Two of them fought with the guards who had rushed in to give assistance, while the third grappled with Jimmy. Sydney stood paralyzed and watched as the man in the ski mask overpowered Jimmy. The man drew his gun and shot the young guard before yanking the key ring from his belt.  He used them to unlock her handcuffs, then he grabbed her arm. _Vaughn? Weiss? Dad?_ Sydney's mind raced. She was being _rescued_. The masked man's fingers dug into her arm. That wasn't right. Vaughn had been _gentle_. She started to panic. These guys were sent to kill her.

Before Sydney could react, the man was pulling her out the door, with the other two flanking them, shooting anyone who tried to stop them. In the parking lot, a van screeched to a halt, the side door swinging open. One of the men jumped in and reached out for Sydney, who was using all of her might to resist the shoves of the other two men that would have sent her sprawling on the van floor.

She had to get away. _Now_.

Sydney's leg flew out in a front kick, pushing the guy in the van back, and he cracked his head hard against the van's window. She spun on the other two, trying to sweep them both in a roundhouse kick. One tried to grab her leg, but she pushed it higher and smacked her foot against his shoulder, sending him sprawling. She felt someone grab for her arm and she turned on the other. He thrust his fist at her face, but she blocked and rammed her own fist into his stomach. He doubled over and she planted another punch hard on his nose. Blood poured from his nostrils. 

The other man had recovered by this time and as Sydney whirled to face him, he kicked her in the chest. She reeled, fighting gravity as she struggled not to fall. Anger surged through her. _They were not going to kill her_. She reached forward and grabbed the man's arm, using it to steady herself while she broke it. He yelled curses at her, but they went unheard as she dealt him a hard karate chop to a pressure point in his neck. He crumpled.

Suddenly the van exploded into a ball of flame, spraying shards all over. The force of the blast blew the other man off his feet. Sydney fell back on the pavement, the wind knocked out of her. Car alarms were shrieking as debris from the explosion rained down on them. She felt hot metal land on her arm. She brushed it off impatiently, but not before it burned the tender skin.

As soon as she caught her breath, she was on her feet, running, gone before anyone could gather their wits.

When had everything gone wrong? 

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time Weiss got from the visiting room to the parking lot, the van was a smoldering hunk of twisted, melted metal. Two masked men lay on the pavement, their limbs twisted in impossible angles. Weiss shook his head. He knew what Sydney was capable of, and right now she was ten times more dangerous because she was scared, frightened, hurt; a wounded animal. 

"Shit," he cursed, wiping the sweat from his brow. He wasn't used to this – running after Sydney was Vaughn's specialty, not his. He put a finger to the audio unit in his ear. "Freelancer has slipped the mooring, repeat, Freelancer has slipped her moorings."

//end part three

**A/N 2: **Sorry this one took so long – I was on vacation in California, without a computer, so writing was done very slowly by hand ;)


	4. Stuck In A Moment

**Perfect Place – Part 4**

_Hey, Is anybody home?_

_Has anybody wasted tears on the loneliness_

_That everyone becomes…_

_            "Is Anybody Home", Our Lady Peace___

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~__

**M I N S K   ** Republic of Belarus 

The new patient was quiet. Dr. Volkonov said he was suffering from Post-Traumatic, but Sissi knew different. The man with the green eyes was just quiet. He was also sad. It wasn't like the patients with clinical depression who wandered around with their memories by their sides. Sissi knew better. He had lost something. Something very important, and it showed. He was empty.

She watched as he lay, curled in a fetal position on the floor of the stark white solitary confinement room. He had been allowed to walk around like many of the other patients until his violent outburst yesterday. No one knew what sparked it. Dr. Volkonov had been in session with him when he got up and breaking his long silence, grabbed the psychiatrist, shoving him up against the wall. Uri and Georgy rushed in and restrained him before any real harm could be done. Dr. Volkonov sedated him and he was placed in solitary.

Sissi felt something for this man. It wasn't quite pity or sympathy, but something in between. She had never experienced anything like what he must have gone through, but she felt connected to him in some way.

Mikhail, they called him, was mumbling. He did this often, not really speaking, just forming the words. Sissi leaned forward, trying to discern what he was saying. Something like 'go' and 'run', but she couldn't be sure. But it was in English. Sissi knew that much.

It wasn't unusual to have English-speaking patients. During the Cold War, when Belarus had been a part of the Soviet Union, the hospital had held many patients who spoke English. Many who said they were Americans. They thought they were spies, but it was just schizophrenia.

Sissi shifted her weight from one foot to another. She'd already taken too long. All she had to do was give Mikhail his meds and then she could go on her break. She wanted a break badly. She's been on duty for four hours without anything to eat or drink. She longed for a soda from the new vending machine in the employee lounge. Sighing, she stepped forward, hypodermic in hand.

She paused. As a child, she'd hated getting shots. Hell, they terrified her. She always hated giving them to her patients. She was a nurse, she was supposed to make people better, not hurt them. She took a breath and stood next to him.

She had the hypo poised, ready to prick when he grabbed her wrist in a tight grip. She gasped and dropped the needle.  His emerald eyes bored into her blue ones, transferring a multitude of thoughts and feelings. Eternity passed in a millisecond. She didn't know why she didn't reach for the panic button. 

Finally, he spoke. 

"Help me."

//end part four

**A/N:** Thanks to Karen on this one, who told me it was good just the way it was.


	5. Out Of Order

**P e r f e c t  P l a c e  -  P a r t  5**

I'm feeling out of order // I'm beaten and I'm wounded // Like I never was before. . .

          "Out Of Order", Duncan Sheik 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Authorities are looking for a young woman, in her mid-twenties, going by the name of Kate Jones. Ms. Jones, who is wanted in the investigation into the shooting death of Arvin Sloane, a prominent officer at Credit Dauphine, a downtown Los Angeles bank, escaped custody earlier today…"

The television, which here to fore had been just a vague buzzing background noise became insistently irritating. It was switched off and the remote was tossed across the room. _They must be desperate_. There was no other reason that they'd go public with Kate Jones.

Sydney stumbled into the bathroom. It was still the hot season in LA. Turning the faucets on cold, she splashed water on her face. Raising her head, she watched the water droplets running down the face of her reflection in the mirror, the harsh lights making worry lines and wrinkles she didn't have leap from her face. She felt old, and she looked it. A hand reached up and tugged at her shorn hair. Images flashed before her. _Scissors. Chunks of hair in the sink. Black dye_. Her hair, her lovely, shoulder length brown hair was gone. She had loved her hair. But it had to be sacrificed. 

Shaking her head she brought herself back to the present: the cheap, dirty motel room, the aches in the wrong places. He head hurt, but it wasn't a headache, and there was a dull pain in her chest as well as the various bruises she'd accumulated while escaping Security Section. She ran fingers through her hair to lift it off her scalp, trying to weave some air into it. She felt other fingers running through her hair. Ghost fingers. Danny's? Noah's? _Vaughn's_?

Sydney's heart clenched as she remembered the last time she'd seen Vaughn. The walkway by the fountain. Behind a stone pillar. His hands in her hair. One quick kiss.  And then he was gone.

So many conflicting emotions flooded through her body. She wanted to be able to hold him close, and cried because she couldn't. She wanted to yell at him until her voice went hoarse for sacrificing himself for her. She only ended up berating herself for making him think he had to prove his trust to her, the daughter of the woman who killed his father.

Returning to the main room, she pulled a tiny object from her bag. It was no bigger than a pack of gum, the kind you bought at gas stations, five sticks for a quarter. The high-density plastic casing protected the wires and circuits inside. It looked like something Marshall would have created. "Looks like a key chain, right? Well, it's really a micro-drive…perfect for the busy spy on the go. This baby's got 512 megabytes of flash RAM…more than enough for a few secret documents and all your MP3's…"

But the tiny hard drive wasn't one of Marshall's creations. It was something else entirely.

Throwing it back in her bag, Sydney cursed and crossed the room to the window. The lights of the city made it almost impossible to see the stars, but she managed to find a few constellations she recognized.

_// I used to look at the night sky all the time when I was a kid. It was…I don't know…comforting, I guess. Nothing ever changed there.//_

But things did change. Even the stars. They were old news by the time anyone on earth saw them, their light having traveled thousands of years to get to you, they could be dead now and you would not know.

// I remember being like, six, and my father teaching me how to find the North Star. If you can find that, you can find home. //

Home. Home was a house of lies and a city of sins. 

//end part five


	6. Origins of Sin

perfect.place                                                                               part.six

_Tell me your secrets // And ask me your questions // Oh let's go back to the start       . . ._

_"The Scientist", Coldplay_

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A Few Weeks Earlier… 

"This is Anton Chelnokov," Arvin Sloane announced as the pock-marked face of the Russian mobster appeared on screen. "He claims to have the plans for a nuclear device that the Soviets were working on at the end of the Cold War. Now we don't know just what these plans will build, but we cannot let them go to the highest bidder. Which is, of course, exactly what Chelnokov wants to do."

Sydney shifted in her seat as she watched Sloane pace about with his remote like a king with a scepter. He was playing Lord of the Manor, and it irritated her intensely. Sydney pictured him in Medieval robes with a drumstick in his hand, like Henry VIII. She was tempted to laugh, but then she remembered that Henry VIII killed his wives – and anyone who went against him. Sydney remembered Danny. Suddenly, it wasn't so funny.

"Sydney," Sloane said, making her jump inwardly, like she was that kid in the back row that Mrs. Haisley always caught sleeping during Algebra. "You and Dixon are going to Minsk to negotiate with Chelnokov's middleman, Sacha Nikitin. You will meet Nikitin at a pre-arranged location and exchange signals to verify each other's identities. Sydney, you will be Natasha Prokhorov, a student activist whose parents escaped the USSR in the Eighties…Yes?" Sloane asked, acknowledging the look she was giving him.

"Isn't that a high-profile alias?" Sydney asked. "I'll be watched from the airport on . . ."

"That's the point," Sloane explained. "The KGB is still active in Belarus. They are excellent in their reconnaissance skills. You'll need to first get their attention in order to elude tails."

Sydney nodded, accepting the logic. Sloane moved on. "Dixon, you will be Sydney's technical support, operating out of your hotel room. Marshall will handle OpTech. Marshall…"

The man stood, with his hands characteristically shoved in his pockets to prohibit obvious fidgeting. "You are going to love Minsk. It's so beautiful. The city is, like, 390 years old. If you have time to see the sights, I recommend the church of Mary Magdelene and the Academy of the Arts. Wow, it's fabulous."

"Marshall," Sloane interrupted.

"Yes, sorry, Mr. Sloane. Okay. Well, you, being a student-activist and all, will undoubtly wear something made from hemp. So much stuff can be made from hemp – it's an awesome plant, but, uhh, we won't get into that. So anyway, you'll have this lovely necklace – pretty isn't it?" Marshall asked, holding up a braided length of hemp with clay beads woven into it. "Now here's the really cool part – This little baby," Marshall grinned, pointing to the center bead, "is a camera. So you just put it on and point it at something, and BAM! We can see what you do. So, like we'll be able to help you spot Nikitin when you meet with him. Cool, huh?" He handed the necklace over to Sydney.

"Thank you, Marshall," Jack said, "Now, once you have successfully evaded the KGB, you will meet with Nikitin by the fountain in the park of Janka Kupala. You will be holding a copy of the morning news paper, which you will drop once Nikitin gets close enough. He will pick up the paper and ask you if you are lost. You will reply that you are looking for the opera house. Once both of you have verified each other's identity, the exchange will take place. Any questions?"

Sydney shook her head, mentally writing her letter to Vaughn already.

"Good," Sloane pronounced, a smile lighting his features with a slight demonic taint. "This briefing is over, then."

Sydney, Jack, Marshall, and Dixon stood, ready to leave the conference room and get to their provisioning for the mission at hand. Sydney was about to follow her father out the door when Sloane spoke, making her stop.

"Dixon, could I talk to you for a moment?"

Sydney looked back at Dixon. Her partner was checking his watch. "I'll meet you in Marshall's lab after lunch to go over OpTech, okay, Syd?" he said, flashing her a smile.

"Sure," she replied, returning his smile with one that didn't quite make it to her eyes. She hopped neither Dixon nor Sloane saw the fear that must be there.

"Don't bother rushing back from lunch, Sydney," Sloane said, "this mission is going to be a difficult mission to complete, so take it easy now, while you can."

_While you can._

Sydney just smiled and turned away.

Just before the door closed, she looked over her shoulder at Dixon, sitting at the table, with Sloane swooping down on him like a hawk.

_Get your mind on the mission, Bristow,_ she scolded herself, heading over to her desk to gather her bag and papers. There was nothing she could do about Sloane cozying up to Dixon at the moment. And Dixon would tell her all about it later. Wouldn't he?

Sighing, Sydney left SD-6 for the park, in search of a lunch cart where she could get a brown paper bag.

//end part six

A/N: Any place mentioned by Marshall or Jack actually exists in Minsk – yes, I did my homework! And thanks to Karen, cause she's lovely.


	7. Broken And Didn't Know It

perfect.place                                                                                                                                                            part.seven

_I took for granted you were with me // I breathe by your looks and you look right through me // But we were broken and didn't know it…_
    
    _"Deep Inside of You", Third Eye Blind_
    
    ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 "We're doing everything we can."

It sounded so hollow, empty. Like the ER doctor who knows your loved one is probably not going to make it, but doesn't want to deal with hysterical family members. Hypocritical.

_You are such a hypocrite, Michael Vaughn_.

He was sure Sydney could see right through it. She must know that the chances of finding Will were about a zillion to one. 

"I know." She paused and looked away, then continued by talking at her bag – she always did that when it was something touchy, she'd look away and speak to some inanimate object. "It's just…it's Will. My friend."

Her _friend_. Oh, how well he knew _that_. 

"Sydney, the CIA has several people working on it. Your father and I are in constant contact with them. If we can't find him, well, it can't be done." _Open mouth, insert foot_.

"How many is several, Vaughn?" She was staring directly at him. "I want to know."

"Well, Will is not exactly on the top of the CIA's priority list." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling uncomfortable under Sydney's scrutinizing gaze. "He's lucky his case has been allotted four agents."

"Four?" She practically hissed that one.

"He's a missing person, Syd. The only reason the CIA is even handling it is because Will was working unofficially for your father."

"Am I supposed to feel grateful for that? That because my father put him in danger he's _worthy_ of the CIA's notice?" she spat.

She usually wasn't this…hostile. Vaughn almost asked if there was something on her mind, something she wanted to talk about, but thought better of it. Diffuse this issue first. "Sydney, it's not like that at all. Nobody forced Will into working for your father. We didn't think the safe house could be compromised. No one expected Sark to show up…"

"Sark was there? And you didn't tell me?"

"We just found out. He'd erased the security tapes, we were able to recover the video. He shot Will with a tranquillizer."

Sydney looked away, fixing her gaze on some invisible spot on the wall. Vaughn wondered briefly if she was imagining him squashed against the wall like a fly. It took him a moment to realize she was trying not to cry.

"Here," Vaughn found himself holding out his handkerchief, hoping fervently that she wouldn't cry.

She looked at the offering and then up at him. "I don't need it."

"Sydney, it's okay. You're under a lot of pressure right now. You can't keep everything tucked tightly under wraps all the time. Go ahead and cry if you need to."

The look on Sydney's face gave new meaning to the old adage 'if looks could kill…' She advanced on him and he instinctively backed up until the backs of his thighs hit a storage box.  She yanked the handkerchief from his fingers and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. "I. Don't. Need. It." she snarled through clenched teeth. Vaughn felt helpless, hypnotized by her death stare, like a snake's prey.

Before he realized it was happening, she was walking away, her heels tapping out an angry statacco rhythm. 

"Sydney…wait."

She stopped at the gate in the chain link cage and rested her head against the metal links. "I'm sorry," he said to her back, "I didn't mean…I just don't want you keeping everything inside. I'm here…if you need me."

She turned back to face him across the chasm of boxes. "I know," she said softly, "You pity me." Vaughn stared after her as she turned on her heel and walked out.

Later, he told himself, he should have waited. Followed protocol that required one of them to give the other a five minute lead on leaving a clandestine meeting. For once in his career at the agency, he should have played by the rules.

He follwed her outside, determined to discover the meaning behind her words. He was sure they were a product of frustration. Frustration over Will and SD-6 and everything that had gone wrong since the day she told Danny the truth. 

He caught up to her and grabbed her arm, a rather dangerous move. She turned her head back towards him and her shining brown eyes met his hazel ones. She exhaled heavily, releasing tension. 

"You think I pity you?" somehow he couldn't quite keep the tiny note of condescension out of his voice.

"Sometimes," she admitted. Her answer startled him, and he dropped her arm. She got into her car and drove away, leaving him alone in the late afternoon sun with his thoughts.

//end part seven

a/n: Remember, this is post-"Rendezvous" and pre-"Almost Thirty Years", so Will is still in Taipei. Special thanks to Jada, Aire, and others. And to Hil, here's the long awaited next installment I promised :)


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